


Seen

by fictocriticism



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (off screen), Canonical Character Death, F/M, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Minor Lydia Martin/Derek Hale, Nogitsune, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 21:56:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1794544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictocriticism/pseuds/fictocriticism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Lydia wished Stiles would see her, one time she wished he wouldn’t, and one time they finally saw each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seen

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Kris and Kahlia for organizing Stydia week!
> 
> I haven’t written anything for a long time, and I’ve never written for Teen Wolf before. I'm pretty nervous about it. My prompt was _role reversal_. As a result, I’ve played pretty fast and loose with canon, keeping and changing some parts and also ignoring others. 
> 
> An extra special thank you to [ulysses31dancer](ulysses31dancer.tumblr.com) for her fantastic and speedy beta work. All mistakes definitely remain mine, however.

  _1._

“Who’s that?” Allison asks. Lydia’s too busy taking in the details of her jacket to notice at first. She’s ready to ask where she bought it from, suggest they go shopping – cement this burgeoning friendship with her favorite ritual – when Stiles nearly bumps into her bounding up the steps.

“Watch it!” she snaps, voice harsh over her shoulder. She can’t help but watch though as he drags Scott further behind him, sparing maybe half a glance in her direction.

“Who’s that?” Allison repeats, this time a little softer and Lydia grits her teeth to remove what she knows is her stupid Stiles face (christened by her mom after Lydia’s third day at school).

“That’s Stiles and Scott,” she says, tucking her arm through Allison’s and pulling her into the school building. “They’re co-captains of the lacrosse team and they’re incredibly annoying.”

Allison’s mouth lifts up a fraction and Lydia can’t help but smile back.

“Fine. Stiles is the hottest boy in school and he doesn’t even know I’m alive,” she says with a melodramatic flourish. It works; Allison’s laugh is fresh and light and Lydia thinks maybe she’ll have a new friend for the year.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Allison says with what Lydia is quickly recognizing is a dangerous glint to her eye, “he seemed to look at you for about half a second there.”

Lydia raises her eyebrows. “For that, I think you owe me a shopping trip.”

Allison laughed again, hard enough that Lydia couldn’t stop her own smile.

“Deal.”

\----

 

It’s lunch and Allison collapses next to Lydia gratefully, politely ignoring the fact that Lydia and Jackson are sitting on their own in the busy cafeteria.

“I’ve been lost twice,” she says, somewhat out of breath. “And I’m pretty sure the chemistry teacher hates me.”

Lydia doesn’t quite snort, because she stops herself before she gets there. A guy in her math class once said she sounded like a horse. “Don’t worry. Harris hates everyone.”

Jackson stabs his fork into his chicken in agreement.

“Don’t mind him,” Lydia says, patting his arm. “He gets monosyllabic when he’s angry.”

Jackson’s been her friend since first grade when he pulled her hair and she’d pushed him over so hard he cried in front of everyone. Now, they bond over distant parents with too much money and their incredible lack of social status. Lydia’s too smart for anyone to pay attention to her, especially since she discovered her gift for advanced mathematics and has been encouraged to attend classes at Beacon Hills Community College. And Jackson’s asthma’s so bad he can’t try out for any team sports – the only way anyone makes a name for themselves at Beacon Hills.

Allison’s watching Jackson dismantle his food in what appears to be bemusement when they’re interrupted by a commotion behind them.

Stiles is on the floor, still wrapped up in his chair. Erica’s got a heel pressed into his chest and he’s laughing while wrapping his hand around her ankle. Lydia can’t look away, transfixed at the way his long fingers skate gently around Erica’s bones. She’s always watched his hands; the way he holds a pencil, the way he taps them incessantly against the desk (or his knees, or the table, or Erica’s shoulder when his arms are wrapped around them); when he absently chews on his nails.

Erica is stunning, with red lipstick and striking cheekbones. Lydia wants to hate her but she remembers too well that Erica has epilepsy, although, no one really seems to know why it doesn’t affect her anymore. Now Erica wears leather and knows how to work her cleavage,and Lydia kind of enjoys the way her calf flexes where it’s pressed against Stiles’ body.

“Get off me!” he shouts, body shaking from his laughter. Next to him, Scott’s laughing so hard he’s nearly crying, and Lydia can’t help but notice Allison watching him closely.

“Say it,” Erica says then, the words honeyed. Lydia hates that, hates the way her voice sounds like that, where hers just goes croaky and flat rather than whiskey-rough.

It’s obvious which one Stiles prefers.

Stiles’ hands have reached Erica’s knee now, and Lydia’s finding it harder to pretend she isn’t watching.

She turns back to her food with a savage hair flick, valiantly trying to ignore the way Stiles’ voice hitches when he responds, “I’d never beat you in a fight.” She smiles too brightly at Allison when Scott whistles obnoxiously.

\----

 

Lydia kidnaps Erica later that year. She knows it’s not right – _something’s_ not right, even if she isn’t completely sure what. Allison is taken aback but supports her anyway, letting her lock Erica in her surprisingly secure garage that Lydia vaguely notices smells of gun oil.

Lydia’s pretty ruthless about the whole thing – she knows Erica’s not herself, not all the time anyway, and this needs to happen. It doesn’t help though, knowing she’s right, not when Erica’s seething and throwing barbs at her. Barbs designed to hurt, as well. She never picked Erica as cruel. But then, sometimes Stiles is cruel – carelessly so, like he hasn’t considered what life is like for those on the other side.

“He’ll never look at you,” Erica says, and her voice is still honey rich like always but raspier, rougher. “It doesn’t matter what you do to me, he’ll never look at you.”

Lydia grits her teeth, bites back her instinctive response.

“This isn’t about him,” she says. Allison’s quiet behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder. She tries to bury her rage but it escapes through the slightest shakes in her hands as she grips Erica’s phone.

 _Won’t be around tonight. Love you_ , she types. Stiles’ response is nearly immediate: _:( love_ you. She ruthlessly suppresses any reaction, then looks Erica straight in the eye.

“No, this is all about you.”

  

_2._

She runs into Stiles with Scott when she’s on the way into school with Allison. It’s pretty obvious Scott is really into Allison in an embarrassing way. She likes the way Scott seems not to care that Allison’s friends with the math nerd. Allison keeps her cool, flirts gently with her slightly too wide smile and easy laugh. Lydia and Stiles stand next to them; Lydia awkwardly smoothing her hands down her skirt over and over, Stiles engrossed on his phone. She wishes he’d look at her, start a conversation. She wishes _she_ could start a conversation. She also wishes she never had to speak in front of him again.

Afterwards, Allison finishes telling Lydia about her date plans with Scott when Lydia’s non-committal agreements comes out more pained than interested.

“You didn’t speak to him?” she asks.

Lydia sighs, and looks at her feet. These boots are spectacular with her outfit today.

“Lyds,” Allison says, and she’s using that tone in her voice, the one that riles Lydia up no end.

“Oh come on,” she scoffs. “What was I supposed to do? Peel his fingers away from his phone?”

Allison fixes her with a look.

Lydia wilts.

“Fine,” she says. “I guess I could have spoken to him.”

Allison links their arms together as they walk through the doors. “Atta girl.”

“I don’t know how you can be so judgmental while still sounding like you’re on my side.”

Allison laughs and tucks Lydia tighter against her. “I am on your side,” she says and it’s so genuine it makes Lydia’s stomach clench. “I’m on the side of you and happiness.”

\----

 

When Lydia drives her car through the warehouse wall and into Erica’s kanima form, she wishes more than anything that Stiles was on his phone now, safe at home, and away from all of this. Instead, he’s wrapping Erica up in his arms, their true love apparently strong enough to shift her into a werewolf right before their eyes.

Gerard is vomiting ash everywhere and the whole scene is disgusting in a way that’s mostly horrifying but also macabre. Derek’s kneeling awkwardly in the background, half wolfed, with Isaac and, surprisingly, Allison at his side. Scott’s balancing awkwardly behind Erica and Stiles, and looking pained at where Derek’s still retching black goo onto the floor.

Lydia tries valiantly for a moment to brush the dirt off her shoes, but has to give it up when she sees how the black gunk has stuck to the fabric. She can’t help but watch Stiles and Erica out of the corner of her eye, the way he’s covering her body with his long arms, murmuring into her ear while she shakes violently underneath him. It’s a stark reminder of how she used to look, seizing in gym class. Lydia bites her lip, enjoys the sting.

She’d heard his emotional confession, his ‘I love you’ and the batman key ring that apparently symbolizes their epic romance. Erica looks up then, and Lydia notices her tear streaked face and the way Stiles’ expression just melts. Her heart twinges, and she’s just so done with this scene now.

She reverses her car noisily out of the mess of steel and winces when she sees the way the front has buckled in. Her dad is going to kill her. But right now, she’d take that compared to watching Stiles’ face.

\----

 

It’s not even two months later when Erica’s gone. Lydia runs into Stiles when she’s out walking Prada. He’s walking aimlessly along the streets, his eyes distant.

“Hi,” she says, and tries not to be upset when he barely acknowledges her existence.

She wishes he would look at her, if only so he’d stop watching after Erica. It’s the most selfless she’s been about wanting his eyes on her for years.

 

 _3_.

She wakes hot, face burning and her hand pressed tight against her clit. She’s gasping, tightly poised right on the edge, and in her mind she’s still in Stiles’ bed, his slender fingers the ones on her ~~skin~~ , pushing into her heated skin and it’s barely moments until she’s coming, groaning brokenly as her body heaves in relief.

It takes her a while to come down, her eyes slipping open eventually as she looks at her phone just as her alarm starts blaring.

\----

 

She runs into Stiles in the hallway outside Ms Morrell’s office. She seems to catch him mid-sentence, and his eyes widen when he spots her.

“Hey Lydia,” he says, body flailing slightly as he rights himself in his chair. She looks around but there’s no one else there.

“Hi Stiles,” she says. She’s overly conscious of the way her voice rasps, louder than she would like – she can’t seem to sound quiet like Allison, but instead her voice is thick and loud. “Seeing Ms Morrell?”

He nods. “I’ve been ‘encouraged’ to see her since prom,” he says, using his fingers to make the quotation marks in the air. His eyes bore into hers briefly before skittering away.

Lydia nods. She’ll never forget prom and the way Stiles looked, broken on the ground while she screamed herself hoarse trying to find someone to help her. She’d visited the hospital daily, ignoring the way Scott’s mum smiled sadly at her, never letting her tell Stiles about her visits. It’s the reason why she’s in counseling too.

“You?” Stiles asks, and it’s the first time he’s really asked her something about herself. Shame it’s about whether she’s also going crazy.

“Yes,” she says, and takes a breath to say… what? How does she explain she’s in counseling because she’s watched the love of her life be attacked in front her eyes?

Before she can blurt something horrifically humiliating out, Ms Morrell opens her door and calls out for Stiles. She catches sight of Lydia then.

“I’m sorry, Ms Martin. I’m running late. Do you have another free period later today?”

Lydia feels her face start to heat, knows Stiles can’t help but overhear.

“I could come during last period,” she says.

Stiles starts in his chair. “That’s math,” he says. “You can’t miss it.”

Lydia looks down briefly. “I’m not in that class.”

“What?”

“I take math at BHCC,” she says, ignoring the way her stomach dropped at confirmation that Stiles didn’t even notice that she hadn’t been in class with him all year.

“Huh,” he says, tone thoughtful. Ms Morrell glances between them, just once, and then nods at Lydia. “Final period, then,” she says and drags Stiles into the room behind him.

\----

 

“Lydia,” Stiles moans, and he’s so out of it, so uncertain about what’s real andwhat’s notthat Lydiafeels sick even while her heart pounds when he says her name.

“Shh,” she says, futilely, her hands on Derek’s back. She’d kept her eye on Peter, watched him so closely and still got taken by surprise. She’s furious, so angry that she wasted time looking at Peter when it turns out all she had to do was stare at Stiles. She was _always_ staring at Stiles, but the one time it might have saved him so much pain was when she was looking away. Instead, she let him be possessed by Peter’s spirit, let him unwillingly bring that monster back to life.

After that, she spends a lot of time watching Stiles covertly. Watches the way he stays closer to Scott’s side than he has for a long time; watches how he shrinks in on himself a little, lets it slide when people call him crazy. Like he was the only one going crazy, she thinks to herself.

She wants to support him, wants to point out that it wasn’t his fault, but his gaze still tends to slide over hers more often than not. So instead she just watches, watches when Braeden turned up, watches as Stiles slowly emerged into the sunshine once again.

 

 _4_.

More often than not, Lydia sets herself up in the library. Someone had to help Derek research to see if there was anything he could do that would stop Beacon Hills being such a hotspot for supernatural activity. She improves her Latin and brushes up on her speed reading. She develops a note-taking technique that allowsher to color code a specialized spreadsheet that should make things easier in the future for when Derek taps on her bedroom window with this week’s disaster.

She spends a lot of time asking Derek about Scott – although she thinks he might know she’s really asking about Stiles. Derek and Scott have this weird enemy relationship that Lydia thinks is unhelpful and in fact harmful to their situation.

“You have to just tell him what’s going on,” she says, for at least the third time this week.

“Oh, like he did with Gerard?” he asks, and Lydia has to admit his sass levels are off the charts.

“Is it helping your situation right now with him not in the know? What happens if these Alphas turn up and he doesn’t know about them?”

“If he cared, maybe he’d think to ask.”

“Scott is in an Allison shaped bubble right now,” she says, sighing. “He can’t multitask enough to be curious about anything else.”

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Derek says, and it’s unexpected enough that she nearly deletes a row in mistake on her spreadsheet.

“Scott?”

“Stiles,” Derek says. “He’s young.”

Lydia looks up at Derek then, where he’s leaning over her shoulder looking at the laptop screen so avidly he must be avoiding her eyes.

“He is,” she says carefully. “But he means well.”

“So do I,” says Derek, and it’s quiet and fast – both giveaways that he didn’t mean to say it all. She doesn’t need to be a werewolf to hear his regrets.

“I know you do,” she says then, and when she looks at him this time he’s looking back at her and she thinks it might just be the distraction they both need.

\----

 

Derek’s all gentle touches and warm hands, warm _everything_. Lydia’s sweating in no time at all, and this isn’t anything like the fumbled first time she had with Jackson before they both realized that it was an awful idea. It isn’t anything like the one night stand she had with Danny’s friend who turned out to be more into Danny than her. It’s nothing like what she thinks Stiles would be like – rough because he can’t stand waiting to get his hands on her.

Instead, Derek’s smooth and practiced, but overwhelmed. It’s obviously been a while, and Lydia wants to wipe whatever he’s remembering off the inside of his eyelids. She clenches her fingers into his hips, forces him to meet her eyes directly.

“You watch me closely,” she says, and then sucks him down with a confidence she’s only half having to fake, immensely gratified when his nostrils flare and his breath stutters but his eyes stay locked tightly with hers.

They have more sex in the next week than Lydia’s ever had in her life. She feels more alive than she has in a long time. It’s invigorating and exciting; Allison’s reluctantly happy for her despite it being Derek. Then the Alphas turn up and things go down the drain.

\----

 

Sometimes she thinks Stiles knows about Derek. He gives her long looks sometimes, like he can see through the concealer on her chin that’s covering the unfortunate beard burn Derek sears into her skin. They even chat occasionally now – mostly about Scott and Allison, to be honest, but it’s more than she’s had before.

Then Ms Blake starts hitting on Derek. Derek mentions it to her one day, and things suddenly click into place – Ms Blake’s continued frustration with Lydia, her insistence that she reads aloud in class, the way she picks at everything Lydia suggests.

“She knows about us,” Lydia tells him, casually, and Derek smiles. It doesn’t light her on fire the way it used to, but it still warms her stomach.

“I don’t regret it,” Derek says. “I hope you don’t.”

It’s surprising what a difference it makes. Not to Lydia’s self-esteem, or her sense of self. No, more than anything it makes her a little lazier with her hair, a bit less likely to worry if her dress perfectly matches her shoes. She’s a shade less than perfect these days and it’s because she’s _comfortable_. Her lipstick is still an amour but it’s one she’s choosing to wear.

One day, when Lydia catches Stiles’ eyes on her when she finishes writing a chemistry equation on the board, fingers wrapped tight around his pen, she knows she doesn’t regret it either. Even though they stop not long afterwards, she wouldn’t change it for anything.

\----

 

“I don’t believe it,” she says. Her hands hurt, clenched against her knees tightly. Stiles is leaning, almost like he should look casual, but she can see the way his fingers are tense, his shoulders raised a fraction too high. His dad’s absence is gnawing at him, obviously so.

“I can’t believe Scott’s with them,” she repeats. It’s impossible. Allison must be beside herself, although, she hasn’t heard from Allison much lately. She’s been rebuilding her relationship with her dad, doing what they can to stay sane after her mom’s death. Lydia understands, even if she can’t put herself in Allison’s shoes. Werewolf hunters – what is her life?

“You didn’t see the look on his face,” Stiles says, and she’s stupidly drawn to the clearness of his eyes.

“What are we going to do?” she asks, hating the way her voice shakes. “We don’t know where she is.”

“We have to keep her from getting the third sacrifice,” Stiles says. “It’s the only way to make sure she doesn’t take the next step.”

“We have to _find_ her,” Lydia snaps. “And Derek.”

“Derek?” Stiles says, eyebrow raised. “Hasn’t he caused us more hindrance than help at this point?”

Lydia rolls her eyes. “Yes, but you might remember he’s an alpha who’s on our side. More than we can say for Scott right now, apparently.”

Stiles flinches so obviously she can see it. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

\----

                                      

She’s freezing; Allison’s hands feel like they’re burning on her shoulders. She can’t stop her lips trembling, knows she’s close to tears. She doesn’t understand what they want with her mum – doesn’t understand how it’s come to this. She looks over, sees Isaac’s hands tightly pressed against Scott’s shoulders, and Deaton’s resting lightly on Stiles’.

She catches Stiles’ gaze then and he looks terrified. She can’t help remembering their kiss – what seemed like only moments earlier. The memory is tinged with the anxiety of her panic attack, the shaky edges and distorted sounds, but she can remember the feel of his lips, the way he’d gasped gently against her mouth. She can’t stop remembering the way his mouth moved afterwards, when he told her what he’d done. The almost sheepish expression on his face when he said it was the only thing he could think of to regulate her breathing.

She blinks.

“Thanks,” she whispers, and hopes he can hear her over his wracking shivers.

She closes her eyes as the water rushes over her.

 

_5._

She’s been losing sleep for so long so she doesn’t know what it’s like to feel rested. She thinks back to times when she fell asleep on the couch at Allison’s because they watched five movies back to back and can’t physically remember what her body must have felt like sleeping. She’s never had so much trouble doing chemistry and she’s nervous, panicked about how she’ll finish the school year. It’s like the numbers don’t make sense; she’s off balance, dazed and frustrated.

Allison’s worried about her, but Lydia hides it well. Her makeup continues to be spectacular, and if she’s retreated behind her perfect wardrobe ensembles once more, well, no one seems to notice the difference.

She loses track of time, eventually. And also her sense of self. She finds herself not sure what’s happening in reality. She knows she plays a lot of chess.

Sometimes she finds herself remembering things that she isn’t sure are real – Jennifer killing the Alpha twins in front of her; Derek coming back; going with Stiles to find their parents; Deucalion. It’s as if she’s got alternate memories, a different Lydia.

The shadow inside her tells her different things, taunts her with riddles that she can’t answer. It’s _infuriating_. She should _know_ how to answer questions – she’s a genius. But she just can’t seem to make sense of what he’s asking.

When she’s thrusting a sword through Isaac’s chest, Allison screaming next to her, she feels the answers coming to her, fast like when she’s practicing with flash cards. Suddenly it just seems so _easy_.

“Never trust a fox, Allison,” she says, and her mouth feels unfamiliar, like it’s moving in ways she’s never tried before. “You should know better than that.”

She doesn’t remember Deaton injecting her with poison, doesn’t remember if Stiles was in the room for that. It doesn’t matter though, she’s still spiraling out of control.

After that, things get murky. Sometimes she thinks she’s helping the others overcome the Oni, but later realizes that she’s nearly killed Scott and Allison’s dad. She finds herself in places she doesn’t recognize, wearing clothes she can’t remember putting on. The game of chess starts to play before her eyes even when she can seewhat she thinks is the real world reflecting through the checkered board.

\----

 

“Slow down, Stiles,” Lydia says, tracking him down the stairs in the asylum, so familiar after so many years. “You know I’m wearing heels. I won’t be able to keep up.”

In front of her, Stiles is desperate for breath, running – no, stumbling. She’s absently aware of the way her body appreciates his shirt pulling tight across his chest while he twists back to look at her.

“You know she’s dying,” Lydia says, so casually. “She’s dying and you haven’t even looked at her properly. Not once.”

Stiles is crying now, although the tears just mix in with the sweat on his face. “I have,” he sobs, “I have.”

“Poor little Lydia,” she says,and she wants to claw her own eyes out. “She’s so _desperate_ for you. She stinks of it.”

Stiles trips, almost falls on his face, catches himself at the last minute and that’s when he hits the gate. His hands wrap around the bars, his face anguished as he looks back over his shoulder. She hates the look in her eyes even while the nogitsune nearly writhes in excitement.

“Lydia, this isn’t you,” Stiles says and the nogitsune laughs harshly.

“Of course it is,” it purrs, sliding close enough to Stiles that it can run one of Lydia’s fingers down his arm. She tries not to notice the shaking. “She’ll see this again and again later, see you flinching from her touch, see you unable to look her in the eye. It’s my gift to her.”

The nogitsune turns and suddenly Lydia is behind it, it’s wearing her skin and it’s staring directly at her.

“Remember this,” it says, and its voice is nothing like Lydia’s now, it’s just pain and—

 

Lydia jerks awake in bed, a scream lodged tight in her throat as she thrashes with the blankets.

She’s gasping, reaching desperately for air, and she keeps her eyes open, fastened tightly to the roof above her.

There’s a note that reads _Breathe. Call me._

She fumbles for her phone and hits the redial button.

“-mmm?” the voice on the other end immediately soothes her, she feels the breath returning to her lungs, slowly starting to slow her racing heart.

“Lydia?” Stiles says, more alert. “What’s happened?”

Lydia breathes in, deep and holds, and then out. She repeats twice more before she can talk.

“Allison?” she asks, voice croaky.

Stiles sighs. “She’s dead, Lydia. That’s real.”

Lydia nods, even though he can’t see her.

“I’m okay, Lydia. I got away. It wasn’t you.”

Lydia nods again, tries to stop the tears that are now clearly inevitable.

“See you tomorrow, Stiles,” she whispers.

It’s only 2:45 in the morning, but that seems like as good a time as any to start on her English essay.

 

_+1_

Lydia never thought she’d be so desperate for Stiles _not_ to look at her. But now, seeing him startle back hard against his locker, she wishes he’d never look at her again.

“Jesus, you scared me!” he says, and he’s smiling although it’s a little rough around the edges. She smiles back, softer than she’d like.

“Sorry,” she says. “I thought you saw me coming over.”

She tries to fidget with a piece of hair, realizes she has it all tucked away in her hairstyle. She sighs to herself: doomed to be awkward forever.

“Thanks for talking to me last night,” she says. “I appreciate it.” It’s stilted but important for her – she says it every day after she’s rung him. She doesn’t like to count, but it’s getting less frequent now.

He’s generous about it; in fact, he forced her into doing it in the first place after finding her nearly falling asleep in the library after school. He said he doesn’t mind, says he’s happy to help.

She hates it though. Hates that she’s so reliant on him and he’s ultimately burdened with her.

Hates that she doesn’t have Allison to talk things over with; that Jackson doesn’t even know what’s been happening and has been pissy about her being so strange.

Even Derek’s gone.

 

_0._

She goes bowling with Kira and Scott and Stiles. It’s mostly uncomfortable and there’s a particularly awkward moment when she smiles at Stiles and he blinks a little too rapidly in response.

She sticks to Scott’s side a bit more after that, tries to get to know Kira a bit better considering she’s spent too much of their time together being possessed by her mother’s summoned spirit. It’s rough going, but she appreciates their effort. She doesn’t have to sit alone with Jackson in the cafeteria for lunch anymore, even if it’s clear most people don’t understand why she’s suddenly popular enough for the lacrosse captains.

It’s a long few months. Danny takes her out to Jungle one night, says he doesn’t even mind staying solo for the night. It’s not something they did often, before – Lydia tended to study on the weekends rather than party and Danny usually wanted to pick up. Tonight though, they dance like Lydia’s never danced before; all loose hips and arms over their heads, grinding together in a way that’s exciting because of its lack of intimacy. She’s reminded of the way Derek stood over her, bracketed her, and she leans against Danny for just a moment, to remember what it was like when someone looked at her just to look at her – not to see the nogitsune staring out of her eyes.

It’s prom not long after that. Lydia isn’t going to go, but Danny convinces Jackson to ask her even though he nearly throws a tantrum about it. So she buys a new dress to coordinate with his suit and tries not to think about what Allison would wear if she were here.

The prom is boring. It’s filled with memories that make Lydia’s skin crawl; blood, Allison, Stiles – she dances one cautious dance with Jackson, who seems to be more concerned with whether someone could spike the punch than enjoying her company, and then ducks under his arm to the side of the gym.

She doesn’t like the flickering lights, the way it makes her think of her nightmares, of stalking Stiles down narrow hallways. She’s been doing well and she doesn’t feel like relapsing now.

A final glance around the space reminds her that this high school ritual isn’t worth the pain of remembrance. She’s out the door of the gym before anyone even notices her leaving.

That is, until someone catches her wrist just as she nears the main doors of the school.

“Lydia,” Stiles says, and her name sounds just like it did the day she realized this was the guy for her. “You didn’t think you could escape like that, did you?”

He’s smiling, catching hold of both her hands now.

She can’t stop her immediate grin, although she tries to temper it with a raised eyebrow. Derek would be proud.

“Are you going to stop me?” she asks, proud of her voice for staying strong. Stiles knows her now, knows her deepest fears and the way she sounds when’s she woken herself up screaming; knows the way she uses her lipstick as her strongest armor; and the way she looked while crying over her best friend’s death. He knows she takes college level math classes and intends on winning a Field’s Medal; he knows she’s loved him for a long time.

He’s looking at her now, looking at her the way she’d always wanted him to, and he’s _seeing_ her.

He steps closer, until she has to tilt her head back to keep his face in view. His hands slide up her arms a little until he slips them around her waist.

“I was hoping to,” he says. “I wanted a dance.”

She laughs a little, unable to forget the way she’d cried once she got home after watching him ask Erica to prom next to the jeep in the school parking lot. The memory couldn’t feel further away from where she is now, with Stiles’ hands on her back.

“I’d love a dance,” she says, and moves her arms around him. They can barely hear the music from the gym anymore, but Stiles leads them on a slow, shuffling circle.

She tries not to focus too much on the smell of his cologne, the way she can feel his arms under her hands. She stares at the row of lockers next to them instead.

“This is nice,” he says, and when she looks back into his face, his mouth is quirking in that stupid grin of his that she wishes she hated a lot more than she did.

“You look beautiful.

She can feel her stomach spin and that’s enough. She leans up on her toes and kisses him, firm and solid, relishing the feel of his lips under hers for the second time. It’s familiar but so different because she initiated it this time and she can feel the way his hands spasm briefly around her waist.

“Lydia,” he says when she pulls away, his eyes wide.

“Was that okay?”

His eyes dip to her lips and back, taking in her face until she feels herself flush in response. And then he’s sliding a hand along her cheek, pressing her to him as he kisses her again. This time it’s more frantic, and she can feel herself respond in kind. Her mouth opens up underneath his, and she almost shivers when she feels his tongue against hers for the first time. It’s delicious, different from anything she’s felt before, and it’s _Stiles_.

She pulls back this time, desperate for air, and when she leans into his chest she feels him wrap her up in his arms without hesitation, without flinching. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [here](fictocriss.tumblr.com).


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